


all you need to do is ask

by amorremanet



Series: “three sentence” AU meme fics: VLD [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Werecreatures, Banter, Chronic Illness, Chronic Pain, Especially not when your boyfriend insists on being a neighborhood protector, Established Relationship, Ficlet, Long Live Feedback Comment Project, Lycanthropy unfortunately doesn't fix everything, M/M, Slice of Life, Snark, Soft Dorks Being Soft, Tumblr Prompt, Werewolf Shiro (Voltron), Witch Hunk (Voltron), twitter prompt but eh same diff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-23 18:14:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18555136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amorremanet/pseuds/amorremanet
Summary: After a long night of patrolling the streets and watching out for the people in their neighborhood, werewolf Shiro drops in to sneak in a few moments with his witch boyfriend. Not that Hunk doesn’t appreciate seeing Shiro, but he’d like it a lot more if Shiro weren’t so insistent about downplaying or ignoring his chronic pain.





	all you need to do is ask

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Meynara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meynara/gifts).



> Originally written for Mey in **[the latest round](https://twitter.com/amorxremanet/status/1120013718438469635?s=21)** of that good old, “Give me a pairing and an AU, I write ‘three sentences’” meme, and originally posted **[here](https://twitter.com/amorxremanet/status/1120371026142035968)**.

“How’s the pain doing?”

“Eh. Fine.”

Unimpressed in the extreme, Hunk lets himself frown deeply. His brown eyes, normally gentle and hearth-fire warm, fix on Shiro’s face as if Hunk can peer into the pits of his soul. For all this expression makes Shiro’s heart sink, he only gives up a shrug. Not that it’s likely to make much difference, when quirking his shoulder makes him bite back on a wince—but at least he can say he tried to keep this garbage from being anybody else’s problem.

With a sigh, Hunk wilts. “You _know_ I can’t help you if I don’t know what I’m really dealing with.”

“I just wanted to drop in and see you, sweetheart. Y’know, interlope on your work a bit before I get a few hours of shut-eye.” Unfortunately, giving Hunk a smile doesn’t earn Shiro an immediate response. “Nobody was causing any problems tonight, okay? One of Keith’s alarum spells got tripped, but only because Kosmo stuck his nose in it.”

“Yeah, I guess that sounds like him—”

“It _sounds_ like him because it _is_ like him.” Fond as Shiro is of Keith’s Hellhound-wolfdog companion, and as genuinely as he smiles while recounting this misadventure, no one can deny that Kosmo can be a little stinker, when he feels like it. On top of that, he doesn’t always exhibit the best judgment. “Keith had to call the Goodest Boy off of chasing down a rabbit, too. Over around Luxia’s place. I swear, Kosmo barely spotted that little guy, then boom, took off like a shot.”

“Mmm, yeah, right, I bet. Because you’re really in any position to judge him for doing a thing like _that_ , huh.” Hunk snorts like he already knows the answer to his own question. “So, it _wasn’t_ you who Lotor had to levitate because you wouldn’t stop trying to play with a squirrel, that one time?”

Wrinkling his nose, Shiro allows himself to pout. “Hey, what happens on the full moon doesn’t count.”

“It’s not like you completely stop being yourself when you’re like that, though.” Hunk hums pensively, trying to pretend he isn’t yawning, and opens up a spell-book, the one he keeps in the golden, leather-bound journal that Allura got him a few years ago, while she took Pidge and Romelle to Florence. “I mean, the way you usually tell it? Your wolf-side’s another part of you—maybe not always one that you _like_ very much—”

“Mostly because he’s kind of an angry jerk, a lot of the time—”

“Which comes from _you_. Or are we forgetting the time you went off on Lotor’s father—”

“Not forgetting.” Leaning on Hunk’s workbench and propping himself up on his elbow, Shiro lolls his cheek into his palm. He shivers at first, chills shocking through him, but that’s nothing to worry about. Unless he’s recently lit up his hand, the spellwork-infused metal of his prosthetic arm always feels a bit too cool, at first. “Not entirely sure why my fight with Zarkon is a relevant point, either, though, since he was trying to kill me—”

“You _did_ pick a pretty serious fight with him—”

“To cover for Keith and Lotor while they sabotaged Zarkon’s latest scheme to hurt innocent—”

“A fight that was, let me add, bad enough to finally get him arrested, even if it was on assault charges instead of—”

“In fairness: he _was_ assaulting me. Plus, the DA tacked on more charges after that, and I had to keep him occupied—”

“I remember the planning session before you guys went out. Nobody said _anything_ about trying to fight Zarkon—”

“Other distractions weren’t working and we couldn’t let him make any headway—”

“Just like you aren’t letting _me_ make any headway? Y’know, with figuring out if you need anything for the pain?”

Putting on a nervous face—all pouting and wide-eyed, silently begging Shiro to please let him help—comes naturally to Hunk. He contorts his face like this all the time, letting worry tie more knots in his forehead than a Boy Scout going for a merit badge. Even with the tinctures that Allura whips up to supplement his anxiety meds as necessary, Hunk can’t help fretting about whether Matt and Pidge’s latest experiment is as safe as they think, or if Lance got the spellcraft right while fixing up his own sprained ankle, or will Lotor, Keith, and Shiro’s nightly rounds of the neighborhood get them into _real_ trouble, this time. In most cases, Hunk’s vast array of worried faces ache with sincerity.

Right now, though, Hunk shoots Shiro this look while flipping through one of his handwritten, personal grimoires. In the warm light of his dumpster-rescue desk-lamp, Hunk almost looks like he’s blushing. Rubbing one of his eyes, he yawns and forgets his façade enough to slip into a small, soft smile. Even given how early it is—outside, sunrise has barely started purpling the sky—Hunk could try harder to resist that impulse, if he really wanted to fool Shiro into thinking that his current jitters is completely real. All things considered, Hunk’s likely doing some of this in earnest, because Hunk cares so much about other people, especially the ones he loves—but to some extent, he’s faking, and they both know it.

If Shiro had any doubts, Hunk’s lamp would erase them easily. The cord flops off the side of Hunk’s workbench, currently unplugged from the extension cord that goes to the wall. The burned-out bulb glows pink, channeling ambient magical energy to create its light, rather than sending electricity through a coil of tungsten wire. When Hunk’s anxiety truly overwhelms him, he can’t spare enough of his thoughts to maintain the spells that make his lamp function properly, much less do so while digging up whatever he’s looking for in that grimoire. However genuine his concern about Shiro’s pain and his insistence on dismissing it, Hunk’s still feeling comfortable enough to make his magic come together so well.

Comfort—that’s part of why he, Allura, and Pidge operate out of this garage, providing people with homemade potions, charms, talismans, and so on for fair prices. Attached to the little house they rent with Lance, the garage always runs cool but not particularly cold. The shelves along the walls teem with boxes of stuff, things, junk, and miscellaneous supplies but the space never feels like it’s crowding in on you. Pidge has protective wards in place, so no fights can break out and nobody can eavesdrop on consultations that require privacy. Everything about the garage wants anyone who enters to feel as safe as possible, no matter why they’re here or whom they’ve come to see.

Still, if Shiro had any questions about whether or not Hunk’s genuinely concerned for him, this morning, Hunk would put them all to rest with the sigh he heaves. As he flips the latch on his oversized cosmetics box—as he opens up his stash of potion ingredients, unfurls the different shelves and drawers where he keeps these pieces of his toolkit—Hunk gives Shiro a pout of his own. Those warm eyes glimmer, silently threatening to start the waterworks if Shiro doesn’t lycan up, tell the truth, and give his poor boyfriend some peace of mind already.

“Everything _is_ fine, alright? Or fine enough,” Shiro says, and grunts as he tugs his fingers back through his long, white bangs. “Yes, there’s pain. No, I don’t like it. Yes, it could be better, but it isn’t any worse than normal.” Briefly, he considers shutting up—but as Shiro fails to fight down a yawn, he adds, “Plus, the full moon’s coming next week, and relative to how the lead-up could be? Compared to plenty of _other_ days I’ve had recently? Things aren’t that bad.”

“But you _are_ still in pain. Which means I want to help. Which _means_ I need to know how much magic to use, what sort of specific techniques, if I should be looking at spells or potions and if so, which _kinds_ …” When Shiro only gives him another shrug, Hunk rolls his eyes. “Please don’t make me break out the one-to-ten pain scale they use in emergency rooms. I hate how nonspecific that thing is.”

“Well, I hate the fact that lycanthropy enhanced my senses and reflexes—”

“Shiro, if you _seriously_ try pulling out some absolute bullshit argument—”

“—gave me super-strength and speed and endurance—”

“—about how werewolves don’t _actually_ feel pain or the-fuck-whatever—”

“—made it so I can’t get sick by normal means and boosted my resistance to normal poisons—”

“—then I swear by every last god in every single faith—”

“— _but_ ,” Shiro snaps, “for everything else that lycanthropy’s done for me? Getting turned couldn’t cure my illness because why would it. Come on, right? Heavens forbid I ever get to live without my illness. What was I thinking, wanting a thing like that.”

“Yeah, well, run over that list of benefits again, babe,” Hunk deadpans. “Everything else he’s handling for you? Maybe your wolf side’s feeling overtaxed. I know I would be.”

For all Shiro wants to bite out another snarky rejoinder, he holds his tongue. Letting himself slouch, putting more weight on his arms, he shuts his eyes and focuses on breathing deeply, slowly, evenly, exactly as Ulaz taught him to do. On full moon nights, or during particularly stressful moments when the wolf side of him rears its head and yearns to interject, breathing like this helps keep Shiro grounded. He doesn’t always put his wolf side in check, this way, but that’s not the point so much as getting them to talk with each other—getting them to share and work together—instead of struggling to repress each other and making control over their body into some obnoxious war for dominance.

Once Shiro’s reasonably calm, he focuses on the moment, on what he can pull in with his senses. Next-door, Shay’s awake and shuffling around her and Romelle’s kitchen. While she curses under her breath about how they can never find anything in their cupboards, Shiro catches a whiff of something sugary, sweet, and a little smoky. Knowing Shay, she’s overcooking her Toaster Strudel again. Dimly, Shiro hopes that she catches it in time.

Across the street, at the place that Lotor and the Sapphic Dream Team rent, Zethrid’s the first one up. She thunders down one of their narrow corridors—probably an accident of her being half-Jötunn and perpetually forgetting how big she really is—and yawns as their back-door creaks open. Grateful for her assistance, Kova meows, then shifts to purring, probably rubbing himself all over Zethrid’s massive calves. What he does next could go in any number of directions, but he pads toward the kitchen with Zethrid, rather than skittering off to Narti’s room or Lotor’s.

Even here, in a different garage and only looking at the insides of his eyelids, Shiro can perfectly picture those two scenes playing out. More than that, though, forcing himself into the here-and-now clears Shiro’s head enough for him to assess what his body’s telling him: nothing hurts that terribly, not even the hip that crashed into a dumpster lid when Shiro slipped off someone’s fire-escape. His back stiffens, though, spine and muscles protesting as he sits up straighter and rolls out his shoulders. His tendons dislike these motions even more, and Shiro cringes at the thought that Hunk might hear how much his boyfriend’s body has taken to cracking.

Except, when Shiro opens his eyes, Hunk’s grinding dried out herbs with his pestle. He doesn’t seem to have heard a thing. Letting him finish, Shiro fumbles with the black bracelet on his left wrist. Lotor and Allura worked together, enchanting it for him. All he needs to do is rub the oversized purple rhinestone, and waves of warmth wash over him like slipping into a hot bath, easing his tension and keeping his muscles from getting too stiff.

Still, when Hunk looks back to his grimoire, Shiro clears his throat.

Giving Hunk a small, hopeful smile, he says, “I don’t need any magical intervention right now—or, not any literal magic. But if you wouldn’t mind giving me a back-rub, sweetheart?” Shiro winces, left shoulder pushing back hard as he rolls it out. “I could really go for some of your so-called magic touch.”

Although Hunk smiles back, his eyes glisten in the way they always do when he wishes that magic really could cure Shiro’s illness, rather than simply managing it as well as possible and more or less improving his overall quality of life. Nevertheless, Hunk nods and comes to Shiro’s side of the workbench.

“Anytime, babe,” he promises, sidling up behind Shiro and dropping his strong, gentle hands to Shiro’s shoulders. “All you need to do is ask.”

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * Personal reactions/interpretations
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
>   * Comments made with the [LLF Comment Builder](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/post/170952243543/now-presenting-the-llf-comment-builder-beta).
> 

> 
> The author reads and appreciates all comments, and gets back to all of them eventually, but may be slow to reply due to trying to rein in the ADHD/anxiety cocktail.
> 
> If, for any reason, you don’t want to receive a reply, just put, “whisper” near the start of your comment, and I’ll appreciate it without replying.


End file.
